From ancient religions and natal charts to crystal singing bowls and app-guided meditation, humanity has always sought ways to soothe internal chaos. But these methods may rest on a comforting assumption: that distress can be cured instantly. Mindfulness is often presented as a packaged "cure-all for modern ailments," as management professor Ron Purser, author of McMindfulness, puts it. He argues that a practice promising to reduce stress and fix our broken lives may be one reason we ignore the systemic causes of our pain. Nobody can deny that mindfulness has benefits. Researchers routinely link it to lower stress and personal growth. But it also has a darker side that isn't often spoken about, one that can bring anxiety, panic, dissociation, and even paranoia. So what happens when a healthy habit turns into a rigid obsession? When does “taking a moment” become too much? And when does it actually start affecting your ability to live your life? Apparently, it may not take long. Beatriz Camaleão / Unsplash Peace of mind is the ultimate promise. It’s something we all seek, want, and hope to find, even when time and resources are scarce. Like many looking for an accessible way out of distress, Dr. Willoughby Britton found what seemed like a fundamentally simple, low-cost way to ground herself: meditation. Celebrated as a practice designed to focus attention, regulate emotion, and quiet internal chatter, meditation is widely praised as a universal, systematic tool for mental relief. And relief was precisely what Britton needed after a horrific, life-altering tragedy. The psychologist explains that during her undergraduate years, Britton visited her close friend Sarah, a champion athlete at Dartmouth. After entering the house, she discovered Sarah lying lifeless in a pool of blood — she had taken her own life. Brown University In an instant, Britton’s world crumbled. She developed acute symptoms of trauma and PTSD, struggling to navigate daily life under the weight of unrelenting existential questions. While working at a National Institutes of Health lab, she dissected a lab rat, then froze and asked herself, "Where does it all go?" as she confronted life's fragility. At this breaking point, meditation entered her life, promising a path back to stability just when she needed it most. Refusing medication to manage her trauma, Britton was struggling more than ever. To offer comfort, her father sent her a copy of A Path with Heart by renowned meditation teacher Jack Kornfield. The book provided a framework for understanding her ruminating thoughts and offered a way out through meditation. What started as 30 minutes of daily practice soon began taking over her life. While completing her university research, she began to believe mindfulness was a universal cheat code for mental health, so Britton escalated her practice to three hours a day. That was when her experience took a dark, unexpected turn. Polina Kuzovkova / Unsplash (not the actual photo) She began losing her sense of self and reality. During one episode in Providence, she “felt like a bird sitting on her own shoulder,” as she saw herself walk into a creperie. Only when two people turned and glared at her did she hit a terrifying realization: "Oh my God, I forgot that I am a person." Distressed, she sought guidance, but her meditation teachers insisted she had simply reached a higher stage of spiritual progress, congratulating her for uncovering the "truth of no-self." But this "enlightenment" came at a crippling cost: emotional numbing and nearly a decade without dating or romantic intimacy. What Britton was actually experiencing was severe dissociation. As classified in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5), dissociation involves depersonalization and derealization, states where an individual feels detached from their body or surroundings, as if watching their own life play out from behind a sheet of glass. SrdjanPav / Getty Images (not the actual photo) So why would meditation lead to dissociation, psychosis, paranoia, and anxiety when its premise is the exact opposite? The short answer is that it can do both. Meditation aims to quiet the default mode network (DMN), a brain system associated with self-referential thought and internal dialogue. By reducing its activity, particularly during moderate or shorter periods of practice, meditation can help lower stress — no doubt about it. Research has repeatedly linked mindfulness and meditation with benefits for stress and emotional regulation. But when pushed to extremes, especially when combined with unaddressed trauma and used as a way to escape distress, the opposite may happen. Essentially, when certain forms of meditation encourage people to stop their usual stream of thoughts and emotions for long periods, this can lead to dissociative experiences rather than healthy emotional processing. Instead of cultivating a healthy awareness of thoughts, the practice may become a way of disconnecting from them altogether. This isn't an unknown phenomenon, or even a rare one. Dr. Jared Lindahl, a co-lead researcher at Brown University, explained that he completed a 10-day silent retreat in 2004. After the experience, he reported experiencing severe perceptual distortions, sleep loss, and persistent anxiety, the exact opposite of the calm he had expected. Uday Mittal / Unsplash (not the actual photo) But Dr. Britton’s story is not an isolated critique of meditation; it is a case study in a broader psychological vulnerability. Whether it’s meditating for three hours a day, obsessively tracking birth charts, relying on crystals for emotional regulation and protection, or even turning to religious dogma for quick answers, the underlying pattern can be similar. Modern wellness can end up selling, quite literally, the same dangerous premise: that human suffering can be bypassed with the right ritual. And at the right price. Take energy cleansing, for instance. The use of crystals and energy cleansing tools is a practice as old as time. Historically, specialists date the use of stones for spiritual protection to the ancient Sumerians around 3,000 BCE, when they used them in magical formulas and protective charms. The modern revival, however, began in the late 1970s. Spiritual vendors combined elements of Western occultism, Eastern philosophy, and pseudophysics, claiming that quartz and other minerals emit measurable vibrational frequencies that can align human energy fields. It went from a niche subculture to a multimillion-dollar industry. Romain Gal / Unsplash (not the actual photo) Astrology has equally ancient beginnings, originating in ancient Babylonia as a proto-science intertwined with religion, which read the sky as a divine clock. And now? We have apps like Co–Star and Sanctuary, which have raised tens of millions in venture capital funding by offering AI- and algorithm-driven natal chart analysis, fueled by anxiety, technology, and a growing subscription culture. Beneath it all lies perhaps the oldest systematic coping mechanism for existence: religion. Before humans understood meteorology or medicine, and while living with the constant danger of unpredictability, people relied on faith for comfort. Ultimately, that’s what all of these mechanisms offer: a way for human beings to self-soothe. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But what’s dangerous, in Dr. Britton’s view, is the marketing of complex psychological tools as risk-free cure-alls, exploiting people in distress, and driving compulsive behaviors under the guise of self-care. Arina Krasnikova / Pexels (not the actual photo) Psychologist John Welwood coined the term “spiritual bypassing” in 1984. It refers to a practice many of us can fall into: using spiritual concepts to avoid unresolved psychological issues, emotional pain, and real-world responsibilities. Concepts like “positive vibes only” and “everything happens for a reason” can also lead to what is known as toxic positivity. Instead of processing difficult emotions like grief, anger, or fear, practitioners judge their distress as “low vibrational.” Ideas like “karmic debt” or “manifestation blocks” can become convenient shields and ways to avoid mature communication, self-reflection, or boundary setting. Much like in Dr. Britton’s case, wellness routines can easily cross into obsessive behaviors, particularly for individuals prone to anxiety or Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). In modern wellness, this often manifests as a hyperfixation on purity, whether energetic, karmic, or physical. Intrusive thoughts take hold, convincing people that missing a daily meditation, having a negative thought, or skipping an alignment ritual will invite bad karma or ruin their goals. It becomes a vicious cycle — turning what started as a healthy habit into a loop of hyper-vigilance, anxiety, rumination, paranoia, and, in severe cases, clinical dissociation or psychosis. Wellness isn't a one-size-fits-all panacea, and it shouldn't be treated as one. And it’s an easy trap to fall into. We’re sitting at home, doomscrolling on our phones, and suddenly a TikTok video appears claiming that manifestation during meditation will change your life. And maybe it strikes a nerve because you need a new job, want to leave a toxic relationship, or desperately need an escape. But remember: mindfulness can offer so much more than one small calming tactic. It can also become a sophisticated way to prey on our fears, and on our wallets. Before we know it, we’re on a consumerist loop, buying resources to fix the very anxiety that mindfulness is creating. So perhaps it’s time for us all to be a bit more mindful of what we seek, and how we seek it. Joice Kelly / Unsplash (not the actual photo)
